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[171] Down on my native hills of June,
And home's green quiet, hiding all,
Fell sudden darkness like the fall
Of midnight upon noon!
And Law, an unloosed maniac, strong,
Blood-drunken, through the blackness trod,
Hoarse-shouting in the ear of God
The blasphemy of wrong.
“O Mother, from thy memories proud,
Thy old renown, dear Commonwealth,
Lend this dead air a breeze of health,
And smite with stars this cloud.
Mother of Freedom, wise and brave,
Rise awful in thy strength, “I said;
Ah me! I spake but to the dead;
I stood upon her grave!
6th mo., 1854.
Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and company, 1888-89.
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